Definition: Harangue
by Dream Writer 4 Life
Summary: Harangue: a lengthy and aggressive speech. Reaction to the Mole Finding. First in the Definition Series. A Dream Writer Experience.


**Title:** Definition: Harangue  
**Series:** Definition  
**Author:** Dream Writer 4 Life  
**Genre:** Hangst — humour/angst  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Archived:** SD-1, here, and Cover Me. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!  
**'Shippers' Paradise:** S/V  
**Spoilers/Timeline:** Future fic: when Lauren is found out for the ugly mole she is  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Period. End of story. Wait, no it's not! Keep reading!  
**Summary:** Harangue: a lengthy and aggressive speech. Reaction to the Mole Finding. First in the Definition Series. A Dream Writer Experience.  
**Author's Note:** Written in France. Enjoy.

* * *

Definition: Harangue

Ha· rangue, noun: a lengthy and aggressive speech; verb intrans: lecture (someone) at length in an aggressive and critical manner.

"I want out.

"You know why?

"Because my world is crumbling. It's falling piece by piece and I can't stop it. Just _breathing_ takes all my energy and overrides any other thought. At this moment, _nothing_ could ever glue my world together as it was before, or at least in a phantom semblance of happiness. Everyone is gone, and now I am all alone. All of the trust, the trysts, and truths are gone: murdered, drowned, and burned. The former rock in my life has eroded — crumbled against the promises.

"The promises are broken.

"I can't breathe; the lies are suffocating me. I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of them, but no one's there with a life preserver. I'm struggling and struggling, but I-I can't get up over the crests. And they just stand there and laugh at me.

"Why does everyone like to screw me over? Do they find it _fun_? Does it give them pleasure? Sexual gratification? WHAT! Because I'm sick and tired of making _them_ happy and not me. Is it really that hard to allow me five minutes of happiness now and then? Hell, I'd take five _seconds!_ I want to do something for myself instead of the Agency or the Fate of the Free World as We Know It. Is that really too much to ask?

"I just — I need to get away. I need to find a place away from any noise, any movement, anything _breathing_.

"But I can't move. I'm stuck in the same rut doing the same self-destructive, character-deprecating things I've always done, and no other self-respecting, _sane_ person would even think of. I mean, come on! Would a sane person be talking to themselves?

"I see death in every person's eyes: millions, billions of drones — lemmings — falling one after another over the cliff, not knowing or caring that it's coming, or why. I see hopelessness in every person's face; the look of a person who has surrendered to fear, succumbed to the weight of the world; forgotten how to love; forgotten how to feel; forgotten how to live.

"And it scares me.

"Because I know I look like them.

"Even though my job is far from normal, you really couldn't tell by just glancing at me. If I walked down the street, you couldn't pick me out from every other Joe Blow with his head bent, wrinkles blasting across his forehead, worrying over a missed deadline or such. I'd like to think I'd look happier: after all, I save the world practically every day. Shouldn't that give me some kind of satisfaction? Try again. It's, like, the exact opposite. And instead of carrying my work in a briefcase, it comes home with me in the form of scars. Yeah, completely not fair.

"And they don't heal like they used to. The scars, I mean. Time nor a good make-up job can erase them now. They...just...kinda....sit there. Bleeding. And I can't even deal with the emotional ones! They're such a taboo topic that I can't even bring up the broad categories without harsh glares. So much for being proactive about this.

"Add to that this whole 'mole' business, and you've got yourself a lifetime subscription to Loonies 'R Us. I can't believe she's — ah, I can't even say it! After all this time, she's the one who's been... That's — It's — Bullshit! Why? Why! WHY! Goddamn it! It's fucking stupid, is what it is! Goddamn fucking stupid! Heh. I can say whatever the fuck I want about the bitch; everyone already thinks I framed her so she'd be out of the picture and I could be with...But 'everyone' is wrong. If they _were_ right, it'd be one hell of a plot device, and I'm so not about the contrivances. If anything, I'd make Lauren a shape shifter whose favourite form was a cow so I could run her over with my car repeatedly and then cook her up and eat her for betraying my country, my friends, myself—"

A voice clears from the doorway, and she spins around to see Vaughn. Whoops.

"Oh shit."

**_END_**


End file.
